Photography
by TheStealthClown
Summary: France has liked England for quite some time now and has been watching him closely, but when he forgets his binoculars at home, he is forced to go get them. Fortunately, he meets Spain on the way, who just so happens to have a camera, but what happens when the peeping Toms get caught? FrUk, Spamano, PruCan. T for swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N I said I may write this; I did. 'Kay? Hope you enjoy.**

**Warnings: Rated T for swearing and voyeurism.**

**Pairings: FrUK, Spamano, PruCan**

**/**

France perched back on his haunches. The great, large rosebush in front of him hid his body well enough for him to remain unseen, but gave him enough room to be able to see well. It was a perfect situation. Being early for his everyday routine, France glanced at the sun in the cyan sky. Judging by its position, it was about four thirty in the morning; therefore, France sighed, there was over an hour until he could view the sight that he'd been seeing regularly every day for the past year.

France may have been unorganized and late to meetings, but this was one daily event that he would never risk missing a second of. Thus, in his eager rush to get out the door, the Frenchman hadn't even checked the time. He had to remember to bring a bottle of wine if he was early again, to help pass the time. He rubbed the back of his neck and yawned, covering his mouth, even though no one was around. Manners were very important to him. That is, when they didn't put a restriction on his vulgarity.

He opened his eyes in worry and rubbed his neck again, his hands trailing to his collar bone and over his chest._ Zut! _the Frenchman echoed in his head. He had forgotten his binoculars at his place. Seeing as how he couldn't do what he wanted to without them, he begrudgingly got up and headed back to his small home—one of which he had in every country, so he could stay there when there was a meeting, instead of using a filthy hotel. Of course, his house in Paris was many times larger.

He had not brought his car, lest the familiar engine wake up the man he had come to see, so he would have to walk back to his place. For the past year, France had been coming to sneak glances at the man whose house he was just at, but it wasn't just any man. He had come to see his _Angleterre. _

Accidentally, France had discovered something interesting about the Brit, which had led to him getting to see a very underdressed England.

~**About a year ago**~

_France was pulling an all-nighter, drinking with his two troublesome friends, Spain and Prussia. During the course of the evening and well into the night, they had discussed who the most irritating nations were, who the quietest ones were, who needed to loosen up (Germany's name had been mentioned, making the others laugh), who needed to get more serious (no names were mentioned, since according to them, there wasn't a such thing as being too laid back) and who seriously needed to get laid (again, Germany's name was the first to be mentioned). _

_A while later, right at the break of dawn, the threesome parted to get ready for an early morning meeting. France noticed that he had to pass by England's home, since incidentally, he had bought his house a few blocks away from the Brit. _

_Seeing as how he was already running late and could save a couple of minutes by jumping over the fence and going through the other's backyard, France took the opportunity. He climbed the obstruction with ease, and glided through the backyard, safely making it almost to the end of the Brit's territory. Key word being almost._

_Fear gripped him, as he heard a window open. Thinking quickly, he dove behind a rosebush, hoping the person wouldn't see him. After he made sure he hadn't been caught, he peeked out from his hiding spot. France looked up at the window that had just opened and gasped._

_Right above him was England, freshly woken up and practically nude. The Brit yawned, stretching. France had to cover his own mouth, in order to keep the choked moans from reaching the other's ears. He never knew that the Union Jack could look so amazing worn as underwear. Ever since that day, France couldn't look the Brit in the eye without drooling and thinking of those semi-tight boxers that emphasized his favourite part of the Briton's anatomy._

_~.~.~.~.~_

So, like the pervert he was—or like England liked to call him—he had now made a habit of waking up early and sneaking into the man's yard (whichever city they were in), to catch a glimpse of him, knowing the Brit always liked to sleep half nude. Of course, now that would have to wait until he went back to retrieve his binoculars.

Making sure to stay quiet, France backed out from behind the rosebush and climbed the fence again. He still had to cut through a few more yards to get to his house, but it was better than walking down the street, where someone might see him and think of him as suspicious for walking around at four thirty in the morning. He sighed and continued on. He looked around to make sure he was going the right way. His eyes weren't fully focused, seeing as how the sun was just rising and he was still half asleep, hence why he had forgotten the binoculars in the first place. He yawned and shook his head, moving forward, only to bump into someone else. The Frenchman looked up in shock and smiled at the familiar face and messy chocolate hair.

"_Hola, mi amigo_," the tanned man greeted, smiling at him amiably. "What brings you out here so early?"

"I should be asking you that," France replied in a hushed tone so as not to wake anyone, grinning at his friend. Spain looked down and blushed, then looked towards the house whose backyard they were in. France followed his gaze. "So, why are _you _here?"

"Eh…Well, _mi angelito_ is staying here and well…" Spain rubbed the back of his neck. He held up a camera guiltily to show France, rather than have to explain awkwardly that he had come to see Romano. France laughed quietly and Spain looked at him, a look of worry on his face. "You won't tell him…will you?"

France clapped a hand on his friend's back and smiled warmly. "_Non_, don't worry, _mon ami_. I won't tell him." He patted Spain's back, eyeing the camera. "So…you have come to 'see' Romano, huh?" he smirked. Spain blushed further and huffed.

"He never lets me around him…especially in the morning. He's not a morning person," Spain cringed, remembering the last time he'd tried to wake the grumpy man up. He had come out of the room with a bright red hand mark on his cheek. "I just like spending time with him, you know, even when he doesn't know I'm there…Besides," he smirked, "_mi poco tomate_ has taken a liking to sleeping in the nude." He wiggled his eyebrows at France.

"_Vraiment_?" France marvelled, liking the idea.

"_Si,_" Spain nodded. His face adopted a dreamy gaze. "He wakes up every morning, opens the window and just _stands there_ in the sun. _Es muy caliente."_

France examined the camera. He had never thought of taking a picture of England in such an exposing position. "Oh hon hon! Then you save the pictures for later, _oui_?" he asked with a sly smile. He had never known Spain to be one of _those _guys. Spain sputtered a bit, not finding the words to properly explain himself. He grew angrier as France continued to smile slyly at him.

"_Si_! Okay? _Si,_ I use them later on. Are you happy?" he finally snapped, scowling, cheeks on fire.

"_Oui._ Antonio, there's no reason to be embarrassed," France clucked his tongue, giving Spain an amiable squeeze on the arm. "By the way, why are you here so damn early? I know for a fact that Romano doesn't get up until noon sometimes."

Spain shrugged, scrunching his face up in distaste. "_Si_, but he likes watching the sunrise or some bullshit like that," he stated. According to Romano, the sunrise looked like the colours of a tomato that just wasn't ripe yet. And Spain thought _he_ was the sissy one out of the two. Spain looked to the slowly rising sun, something that he'd been doing to tell the time for years. "Which means he should be getting up soon."

As if on cue, the window to Romano's room above them began to creak open. Spain grabbed France by the shirt and pulled him behind the nearest shrub. France looked at the window from behind the shrub, where Spain had fallen on top of him, in his efforts to elude Romano, and was scrambling to get up. He tried to shove Spain off, but the man was too engrossed in looking at his love to help France out.

In the window was Romano, who wasn't wearing a single thread of fabric on him. The Italian looked up, where the sky was beginning to brighten; smiling slightly at the beautiful scene, knowing no one would be able to see this side of him. He sighed contently.

The sun broke over the horizon, with it spilling light and warmth. The warm rays fell on Romano, making it appear as though he were glowing. He stretched, and luckily for France and Spain, the window sill was rather low, allowing them to see everything.

France raked his eyes from the tan chest, down the abdomen, over the narrow hips and feasted his blue orbs on what lay below that. Spain, following his gaze and slapped the Frenchman across the cheek. He finally got off of the other man, sending him a vicious glare.

"You _pendejo_!" Spain ground out. "You're not allowed to look at him like that! That's _my _boyfriend!" He pointed at Romano, the boy being completely oblivious to the two men just below him in the bushes.

"_Bonjour,_" France hissed, waving a hand in front of Spain's eyes, trying to snap him out of his haze. _"_News flash: he's_ not_ your boyfriend_." _

Spain went to strangle the Frenchman, but turned towards Romano again, when he suddenly yawned. Spain's face adopted a dreamy look, while sitting by his French friend and watching his love. Romano stood in the window frame, leaning on his hands which were folded on the window sill. He was completely bathed in sun and had his eyes closed, revelling in the heat. Spain had to fight to contain his drool.

"_Fratello!" _another voice cried from within the room. Romano's eyes shot open and he turned around to face his brother. Italy, who also delighted in sleeping naked, walked up to his twin and hugged him close, their bare chests pressed against each other. Romano tried to push him off, but Italy had an unexpectedly strong grip.

"What is it, _idiota?_ Get off!" he growled.

"B-But _fratello," _he wailed. "I woke up and you weren't there! I had a dream that something bad happened to you!" Italy hugged his brother closer to him, burying his face in the crook of Romano's neck. Romano sighed, but ruffled his brother's hair nonetheless.

"I'm right here, _Italia," _he hushed the crying nation. Spain and France watched the scene with wide eyes. Never had either of them seen the southern component of the country act so kindly to anyone. "Just shut up, okay?" Spain smirked at that. _That_ was his Lovi.

"O-Okay," he whimpered. "I just woke up and, when I didn't see you, I thought my dream came true." Romano hushed him by rubbing comforting circles on his back. He occasionally gave the other a kiss on his hair or face.

"What was your dream about?" Romano asked. Italy looked into Romano's eyes.

"You w-were there," Italy wept. Romano, being unusually patient, urged him on. "A-And so was Spain." Romano raised an eyebrow in surprise. "He took you into his room and I waited and waited, but y-you never came out." Seeing as how Italy had absolutely no clue what an 'inside voice' was, Spain heard this and blushed.

"That sounds about right," Romano mumbled, causing Spain to blush darker. France jabbed him playfully in the ribs with his elbow. "Now stop your damn crying. You're getting tears on my chest." Italy stopped whimpering and laid his head on the other's shoulder, happy that he was okay.

"Brotherly love is a beautiful thing, _n'est ce pas?" _France whispered, a perverted grin plastered onto his face.

"What do you mean, _amigo?" _Spain asked confusedly. France smirked at him.

"Well…" he slung an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Just look at the sight before you. There are two men—very attractive men, might I add. _Twins, _might I also add—in front of you, hugging, while _naked," _he said. Spain gawked at France's openness with his thoughts. Of course, by now he was used to it, but he grew angry.

"But they're brothers!" Spain hissed.

"_Oui, _but they're twins," France commented. "You know, you can buy twin porn. I've bought it before. I'm sure if we filmed this, Hungary would buy it." He reached for the camera that was by Spain's side, trying to find the 'on' button.

"Twin porn? Huh? Are you _estúpido?"_ Spain snarled. "We are _not _filming Romano and Italy like this! Besides, all they're doing is hugging and kissing. It is not porn material." The Spaniard was just about ready to rip his friend's head off—talking like that about his Romanito, as if he was some kind of filthy whore in an adult film. Oh, how he hated that smirk.

"_Non, _but I'm sure we'd all benefit from you taking a few photos," France hinted to Spain. Spain, having forgotten about his main goal, looked at the camera in the Frenchman's hand. He grabbed it and, seeing that France had already opened it, positioned it in his hands. He moved the camera to his face and stuck his tongue out in concentration, index finger hovering over the button. France huffed impatiently and Spain waited for the exact moment when he could see most of Romano and leave Italy out as much as possible.

Not that he found the northern part of the country to be unattractive—he actually was very attractive and looked awfully a lot like Romano—but, he didn't really want to have a naked picture of Italy in his camera, lest Germany were to ever find it. He knew it was paranoia, but he valued his life too much to make that mistake.

As soon as Spain had a good shot, he snapped down on the button, causing a brilliant burst of white light to shine for a split second. France stared at Spain with an amused smile and Spain stared back with a look of utter dread. They both looked up at the twins. Romano was standing in front of Italy protectively, while covering his own vital regions.

"Who's out there?" he yelled loudly. "Show yourself, _bastardo!" _

"_Idiota, _you turned on the flash!" Spain cried to France, who smirked. Spain, having had enough of that cocky smirk, lunged at him in anger and the two tumbled out from behind the bush. Romano jumped slightly and his eyes widened in embarrassment. He hastily shoved Italy back in the room to shield him from the troublesome two.

"Hey! Stop your damn fighting for a second!" he screamed. His efforts to grab their attention were moot. He looked down at them and blushed when he realized he was still naked. He walked back to his bed and whispered to Italy, "Call that potato bastard and tell him that there are two voyeurs that took pictures of us."

Italy nodded and grabbed the hand phone. His older twin knew that the German would be over within minutes after the phone call was made and would mortally wound, if not kill, France and Spain, after finding out that they had taken photos of his precious lover. The angrier Italian could live with that. Romano quickly pulled on a pair of black boxers and rushed out the door in a fury.

"You fucking assholes!" he bellowed, causing Spain and France to stop and look at him in terror. "What the fuck is wrong with you two? Do you think it's fucking _normal _to creep around outside the window of two boys?"

France raised his hand to answer, but was forced to lower it, when Romano snarled at him. "You," he pointed at France, who immediately got off of Spain and lifted his hands in the air in retreat, backing away. "You will _never _speak of this again. _Ever. _In fact, if you even think about what you just saw, you'll be sorry. I know how screwed in the head you are and, since I'm feeling too lazy today, I'm not going to smash your face in, along with your sick, perverted thoughts…But if it happens again, I won't hesitate to cut off that fucking disgrace you keep in your pants," he growled threateningly.

France gulped and he stopped backing away. "Uh…I do not mean to correct you, _mon ami_, but it isn't really a disgrace…I'm actually quite proud of it."

Romano balled up his fists and took a few steps towards France. "Oh, that is it!" he roared. He threw his fist out as if to punch France, but the other man was already running away. Romano furrowed his brow. "That's right! Run, you fucking French pussy! Run like you always have!" He shook his fist angrily in the air.

Spain was still lying on the floor next to Romano, who had forgotten about him until now. He was still cowering in fear at the smaller man's tirade. He was going to kill France for ditching him.

Romano turned back to him and stepped on his chest with one foot, weighing him down. He adopted a much softer tone, but still added a lot of bite to it. "You know, I can understand _him _doing this, but you've never been the perverted _bastardo _that he is."

Spain looked down in shame. The truth was that he had been doing this for a while. "Actually, Lovi," Spain bit his lip, deciding that he had to fess up, since he had read in _Cosmopolitan _that long-lasting relationships were based on commitment and honesty. Not that they were in a relationship or anything of the sort… "I've done this before."

Romano's face turned a bright red and his eyes widened in embarrassment at being seen before like that. "Y-you what?" he cried out. "Spain, what the fuck? Why the hell would you do that, you stupid piece of shit?" His eyes raged and he stepped harder onto Spain's chest, making him wince.

The Spaniard grabbed Romano's ankle, trying to take some pressure off so he could breathe properly. "B-because, _angelito_," he got out, "I…" Spain thought for a second before continuing. "I wanted to capture your beauty in a picture because you always look so lovely in the morning." It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

Romano blushed fiercely at being called lovely. He took his foot off of Spain and looked down, toeing the ground. "R-Really?" he asked.

"Really, really," Spain smiled up at him and, for once, Romano forgot about his usually negative and angry disposition and decided to block out the memory of Spain peeping on him. He gave back a small smile and held out his hand to the other man.

Spain took it and pulled himself up, smiling at Romano, who in turn, blushed again and pecked him on the cheek. "_Grazie." _

The Spanish man decided he wasn't going to kill France for getting them caught, after all.

/

**A/N**

**Oh my God…I can't believe I wrote this. But I did say in one of my other stories (actually this is kind of a prologue to it) that I was might write a story about this and I did! If you want to read the sequel to this story, it's called Le Roi de Séduction and can be found in my stories. So yeah. Please tell me what you think of this. Honestly, I can kind of see France, Spain and Prussia doing something as creepy as this. They are the Bad Touch Trio, after all. **

**There will be one more chapter after this one. Actually, it was supposed to be one story, but I thought it would be better divided as two. The next chapter will be up tomorrow, but until then, I really hope you enjoyed it. Oh, and if you're going to comment, don't hold back. Tell me if it sucked! Next chapter will include Prussia. Honestly, I can kind of see France, Spain and Prussia doing something as creepy as this. They are the Bad Touch Trio, after all. And here are some translations: French (f), Spanish (S), German (G), Italian (I)**

**Zut: Darn(F)**

**Angletterre: England (F)**

**Hola, mi amigo: Hello, my friend (S)**

**Mi angelito: My cherub (S)**

**Mon ami: My friend (F)**

**Mi poco tomate: My little tomato (S)**

**Vraiment: Really (F)**

**Si: Yes (S)**

**Es muy caliente: It's very hot (S)**

**Oui: Yes (F)**

**Fratello: Brother (I)**

**Idiota: Idiot: (I)**

**Italia: Italy (I)**

**N'est ce pas: Is it not (F)**

**Estúpido: Stupid (S)**

**Bastardo: Bastard (I)**

**Grazie: Thank you (I)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me.**

**Warnings: None really, other than sexy shenanigans.**

**Enjoy~**

**oOo**

France ran like hell. He sprinted away from the angry Italian who, he figured, was probably mauling one of his best friends at the moment. He skidded to a stop and debated with himself whether he should go help the poor Spaniard, but decided against it, not wanting to ruin his hair at the moment.

He looked at his surroundings and noticed that he had unconsciously made it back to England's house. He stood outside England's window, waiting with the camera to snap a better photo than he would ever get if he were in the rosebush. He grinned, for he had saved the camera from being completely destroyed by Romano. France turned it on and scanned over the only photo Spain had managed to take before being caught. Really, how was France supposed to know which button was the on button and which one turned on the flash?

The picture he stared at had Romano, back leaning on the window sill and hugging his naked brother close. France admitted that he liked to parade around naked, but he had never guessed that the Italian twins (especially Romano) would be so open to touching each other in the nude.

_It's nice, _France thought, smirking at the picture. _It's very nice._

He mindlessly flipped past a couple more pictures. Some of them were of Romano picking tomatoes, others were of turtles, some showed Spain pinching Romano's cheeks and Romano looking extremely exasperated.

France landed on one particular photo and his eyes sparkled in memory. The picture was one of England on America's birthday, completely drunk. His tie was loosened and his jacket had been carelessly tossed aside. He was hugging Canada, who was holding the inebriated man steady and laughing, violet and green eyes dancing together. France smiled lovingly at the photo. _My two favourite boys, _he thought.

He stared at the picture a bit longer and then flipped back to having the device be set on its picture-taking mode. He looked at the time on the camera and grinned. England should be awake any second. He moved out from underneath the balcony and positioned himself in front of it. The familiar sound of squeaking hinges met France's ears. The tall, glass doors swung open and out stepped a very dishevelled England, hair a mess. France gazed at the sight dreamily and readied the camera. This was going to be so much better than mere binoculars.

England stepped out onto the balcony and rubbed his eyes. He leaned on the railing and was immediately blinded by a flash. Then, another and another. France inwardly cursed, for he had forgotten to take the flash off, but he wasn't going to let that ruin this opportunity.

England blinked a few times and looked around, finally meeting his green eyes with France's blue ones. He turned a bright, beet red and covered his naked chest with one arm and his Union Jack boxers with the other, trying to shield himself. France nearly laughed, loving that the Briton owned many of the same pair of underpants.

"F-F-Frog!" he yelled desperately. "W-What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"Well," France looked up at him lying smoothly, raising his voice so the other could hear, "the last time I tried to grope you, you told me to get a different hobby. I've taken you're advice, _mon cher _and taken up photography!" He smirked at England's mortified expression.

"Then why the hell are you taking a picture of me, you wanker?"

"Isn't photography about capturing the marvellous beauty of nature?" France smiled seductively. "I needed to find a model that exemplified that and you were the first person to pop into my head."

England's thick eyebrows softened a bit and his cheeks heated. France could tell that the colour in England's cheeks was not the cause of the newly risen sun above them. "Y-you're just saying that," the Brit stuttered bashfully. He fidgeted with a strand of his hair and took his arms away from his body, folding them on the railing of his balcony and leaning on them.

"_Non, _I mean it,_" _France answered. England smiled a little at him, his anger momentarily gone.

"W-Well, thank you, then," the Brit said. "Now that you're done with your pictures, if you'll allow me, I'd appreciate it if I could go get ready for the meeting."

"_Oui, oui. _Go ahead, _Angletterre," _the Frenchman replied. England smiled once more at the compliment and turned around to go back into his room. France smirked and, when England wasn't looking, snapped a picture of the man's ass.

The Briton went rigid and turned around swiftly, eyebrows knitted together and cheeks on fire. "FRANCE!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, but he couldn't see the other anywhere.

**oOo**

The Frenchman laughed and ran to the street, eventually taking a slower pace once he hit the sidewalk and was far away from the angry Brit. He went over the pictures on the camera, making a side note to thank Spain for the device, if the Spaniard was still alive, that is. France looked up from the camera and saw another familiar face—this time extremely pale, with snowy hair and blood red eyes—waving excitedly at him. "Hey, Frenchie, guess where I just was!"

France sported a confused look. "Gil, what happened to your eye?" he asked, inspecting the puffy purplish-red bruise forming around the albino's left eye. Prussia smirked and felt the bruise.

"Well, that's what I wanted you to guess," he smirked. "Okay, so get this: I was over at West's house and he got a call from Italy saying something about Spain taking pictures of him and his bruder and West got really pissed, let me tell you. I thought he was going to break his fist through the wall! Then, he went over to the Italies' house and I'm just left thinking that taking pictures is awesome—not nearly as awesome as me, but awesome, nevertheless. So, I decided to take my own camera and take a few pictures of that Birdie I met at the last meeting. What's his name again?"

France's eye twitched. "By any chance, are you talking about Matthieu? Canada?" he asked, feeling his blood boil. He remembered the way the Prussian had looked at the young blond.

"_Ja!" _the Prussian said. "That's him. _Mein Gott, _I always forget his name. When he found out I was taking pictures of him, he freaked out, especially when I asked him to pose like a French girl. He must've given me a hockey punch or something because it was unexpectedly hard, but I'd still lick maple syrup off of him any day!"

France gritted his teeth and clawed his hands. "You _fils de pute," _he growled and lunged for the albino. He grabbed the neck of the Prussian in a stranglehold and squeezed it with his hands, effectively choking him. Prussia may have been self-centred and dense, but there was one thing that he had to learn. There were two things that belonged to France and France only, and were off limits to everyone else: his beloved _Angletterre, _and his _petit _Matthieu_._

Unfortunately for France, Prussia was as strong, if not stronger, than him, so the two ended up rolling on the floor, whilst hitting each other when they got a shot.

**oOo**

After the meeting had adjourned and many questions had been asked about the multiple lesions and bruises scattered across the faces of the trio, they had decided to go out for drinks to celebrate their relatively unwounded conditions.

Prussia had laughed at Spain for getting his ass kicked by the hulking German, instead of the assumed Italian. After France had left and Germany arrived, things pretty much ended with punches and strangleholds, entirely performed on the Spaniard. He had narrowly escaped, he had mentioned to his friends. He had also mentioned that Germany was searching for France, so the Frenchman was trying to keep a low profile. The Spanish man laughed at Prussia as well, after the albino told him that he and France had given each other their wounds. Now, though, all of them were too beat to make fun of each other and, instead, opted for drinking their alcoholic beverages, hoping it would numb their sore bodies.

"So," Prussia started, holding his mug of beer in his left hand, "am I ever going to get my camera back?"

France shifted on his bar stool, in order to face away from Prussia in spite. "Perhaps," he said offhandedly. A wicked smile came across his face. "On one condition: we trade pictures, _non?"_

Prussia grinned maliciously and so did Spain and there was a silent agreement. France took out both Spain's and Prussia's cameras from his pockets and placed them on the bar counter. He turned them both on. Prussia took Spain's camera and went to the camera's album, smirking and laughing.

"What's with all the pictures of Arthur?" he asked. Spain and France looked over his shoulders and stared at the camera, a picture of England leaning on the balcony plastered on the screen.

"He's sexy," France shrugged indifferently.

"So, that's where my camera went!" Spain exclaimed. France grinned knowingly.

"_Oui. _Thank you for the brilliant idea."

Prussia kept looking through the pictures, until the one with a naked Romano showed. "Aw yeah," Prussia exhaled, grinning. He flipped to the next picture, figuring out quickly that there wasn't any more of the nude man. "Why are there so many pictures of Arthur, but only one of Lovino?"

"Well," Spain bit out through clenched teeth, glaring at France, "that _idiota _decided that he was going to turn on the flash, so we got found out before I had expected and couldn't take any more pictures."

Prussia let out a snorted laugh. "You guys fail so hard."

"Oh yeah?" Spain challenged. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell, placing it on the table, already displaying his camera album. "Check _that _out and tell me if I'm a fail."

Prussia and France looked down and felt both their jaws become slack. The picture Spain was showing had Romano sprawled on a bed, covered in a thin sheen of moisture. His hair was dishevelled and a heavy blush coated his soft features. The next one was of him sleeping, Spain posing next to him and giving the camera a thumbs up.

"You didn't!" Prussia laughed in disbelief.

"_Si! _You wouldn't believe how much the babes like compliments," Spain smirked confidently. He pointed to Prussia's device. "Why don't we see yours now?"

"Prepare to be amazed!" he cawed, making sure France wouldn't jump him again. Luckily, he was too busy looking at pictures of his colony-turned-country.

France looked at the pictures and frowned. They weren't what he expected at all. All the pictures showed his Matthieu in his room, brushing his hair. Sure, he was shirtless, but there wasn't anything wrong with them. He suddenly felt bad hurting his friends and overreacting. That is, until he kept going through the photos, seeing that the camera was getting closer…

And closer…

And _closer _to Matthew, until the final picture of the album was one of Matthew's face looking furious and shocked at the same time, a blush tinting his cheeks. France seethed.

"Bastard! You went into his room?" he cried.

"Ha ha, yeah. But then he punched me and pushed me out his window. Thank _Gott _that his room is on the first floor."

France grinned, happy that his Matthieu knew how to defend himself from perverts. Of course, he had been dealing with one since he was a child, so he had practice.

"Is it safe to assume that today's photography session went well?" France grinned at his companions. They all nodded eagerly, pleased with their results. France took hold of the camera again with a devious look in his eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, _mes amis, _I have some business to take care of."

**oOo**

England was at his computer, sipping a cup of tea and looking through his mail. He twitched, when he heard little tinkling noises coming from the glass. He looked up and nearly dropped his tea, when he saw France standing on his balcony and tapping on the glass with his fingers. England stormed over and threw the doors open.

"What the bloody hell is your problem?" he yelled.

Francis smirked and held up his camera. "Can you pose for me like a French girl?" he asked seductively, trying to mimic what his friend had pulled with Canada and hoping England would react better to the request. The Briton just stared at him for a good minute.

"There's something wrong with you, honestly. You're bloody daft," he said finally.

"Come on," France whined. "Something as beautiful as you deserves to have their picture taken."

"Stop calling me beautiful, if you don't mean it!" England growled, red spreading across his cheeks.

"Oh, but I do mean it, _mon cher_."

The Brit shifted his weight on his other foot, biting his lip. His blush deepened and he stared back at France with big green orbs. "Alright," he finally whispered, giving in. France stared back, confused.

"Alright, what?"

"I mean, alright, I'll pose for you, but just this one time," the Brit clarified, clenching his teeth in frustration at the Frenchman's denseness.

"Parfait!" he exclaimed, leading the Englishman to the bed.

From outside England's open window, Spain and Prussia looked at the man's room.

"He's taking quite a bit of time. You think he's dead?" Spain asked.

"I don't think so," Prussia responded.

"DAMN IT, FRANCIS!" a voice above them screamed. "Did I say that I'd let you take _naked_ pictures?"

"Or at least, not yet," Prussia corrected.

"Please, _mon amour," _France begged. "Your body is too beautiful to be shielded by clothing." Spain and Prussia waited for an answer with baited breath.

"Alright," England grumbled just barely loud enough for the two to hear. Prussia gawked, but Spain just smiled.

"What did I tell you? Babes love compliments," he repeated.

"Really?" France asked incredulously.

"No, not really, you damn frog! Now, get out of my room, before I tell Germany that you're here!" the Brit threatened and France, who already walked back to the window to get out of there. From below, Spain pouted, seeing that compliments didn't work well on the Briton.

"Hey, dumbass," England called to him, making him turn around. He looked at the Brit hopefully, thinking he had changed his mind. "Take the door, so you don't kill yourself." France pouted, but regained his composure.

"Do not worry, _mon cher. _I've done this before," the Frenchman winked, making England's eyes widen in enraged shock. France slipped out of the glass windows and climbed over the railing of the balcony, landing in a bush with a loud thud. England winced inside his room and went back to his computer.

"Smooth," Prussia commented, looking down at his friend, and France glared at him.

"At least we still have the pictures," Spain smiled. And that somehow made the situation just a bit better.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

**A/N Gah, final chapter! Like I promised, I have uploaded it today, even though it took some time. I really hope whoever read it liked it and, if you didn't, I can totally understand…It's not really as awesome as Prussia, but then again, what is? I'd like to thank everyone that favourited or followed the story. It really means a lot to me. Here are some more translation: German (G), Spanish (S), French (F)**

**Bruder: Brother (G)**

**Mon cher: My dear (F)**

**Angletterre: England (F)**

**Oui: Yes (F)**

**Idiota: Idiot (S)**

**Mein Gott: My God (G)**

**Fils de pute: Son of a bitch (F)**

**Mon amour: My love (F)**

**Mes amis: My friends (F)**

**Si: Yes (S)**

**Ja: Yes (G)**


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